


Dear Ianto

by Amand_r



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, porn battle challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-26
Updated: 2011-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 07:12:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/174241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amand_r/pseuds/Amand_r
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm thinking that I'll just run one finger of lube over it, shine it up for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Ianto

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cruentum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruentum/gifts).



> For the porn battle, the prompts were "telepathy, toys and the plass" I chose toys for this.

I'm thinking that I'll just run one finger of lube over it, shine it up for you. It's already pretty and glittery and a party favour of everything delightful, so I'll just make it more accessible, really, more accommodating, for your sweet little hole.

However, the plastic hair is a problem, but I'll trim it with scissors beforehand, leave a quarter-inch of the bristles so you can feel them going in, moving in you like a pipe-cleaner, rough inside, harder than my cock or any other of the things I've rammed up there. You'll rotate your hips off the bed as it goes in, green and shining, smiling face of it winking at me as if to say, "It's a pleasure to service you," when what it really should be saying is, '"I belong in a girl's dollhouse."

You say to me all the time that you want _different_ , you want _avant-garde_. Those baby blues didn't widen when I brought you the saddle, or the harness; when I got out the e-stim clamps you rolled your eyes and said, "Oh, I saw that on youporn months ago."

I'm going to scrape the paint from the eyes and paint them in blue, blue like yours. I'll give her some saucy red cocksucking lips. Maybe I'll paint your mouth with gloss before I fuck it, or I'll paint my own and kiss you, give you clown mouth, so that you can wonder what that means, you can lie awake after and think about the symbolism of me fucking your arse with a children's toy while your makeup smears the pillows that our heads will lie on later.

I'm thinking that I like when the day wears on, and in the few hours before everyone leaves, you start to sneak glances up at my office, because the jittering starts, little finger twitches and pelvic thrusts. I should just hang this little bitch up in the window for you to look at all day and just wonder.

However, the tail is perfect, and I'm keeping that, just in case I manage to shove it all the way in, we have means to extract it, because I am responsible and practical. I should braid it and find a little bell for the end. It's candyfloss pink, and that suits your arse, puckered flesh darker but probably just as good. Later I should dust it with confectioner's sugar before I eat it, make you a carnival treat.

You say to me all the time that you love everything I do to you, you love the hairbrush spanking and the paints made of coloured honey. Your eyes had narrowed to anticipatory slits when I'd shown you the chastity device, red and hard. You had jumped out of your shorts to let me put it on.

I'm going to name her something horribly sweet, just for you: Princess Darling, My Little Arseplug, Lady Buttermane McFucksaLot, and then I'll make you say it when I do you with it, turning her with just her little head poking out, her plastic mouth right on the ring of muscle. I'll tell you to clench so she can kiss your arse, make you make the "mwah" kissy noises when you do it, because--

I'm thinking this is the last thing that we haven't done, It's the last thing you want because you don't like being reminded that once we hated each other bitterly, for three weeks when I shot that bitch (laser cyber bitch in a tin can), and sometimes when I do this I can feel that way again, and you can feel that way again, and later, later, you'll fuck me with that hairbrush handle or your cock, raw and unlubed (or bacon grease--meat seems to be something we can't escape).

However, Princess Buttercup Mcpornyhooves is a symbol of the fact that we are the same person in some ways. Different, sure, and I'll never let you take over my office or carry the big gun, but you and I stand on the same ground and we're almost eye to eye, and that's something, all right. You'll make my coffee and glance at my office and then later you'll take off your chastity device and come all over my face because I want you to, because I asked you to, because I have a box of confectioner's sugar, and you know that it's never to be used as a conventional sweetener.

You say to me all the time that it doesn't really matter what's true and what's not, really, and sometimes when you're sharpening the little boot knives you like to use, I believe you, because you could be the master interrogator and you never choose to do it. And I like when you lick blood from my chest, because I wish I was a vampire and could infect you with immortality, so that we could play this out for a much longer amount of time than you actually have. You've never tried to pump confessions out of me when you're riding my arse so hard your come should be able to shoot from my mouth and form little hearts in the air.

I'm going to finish this cup of coffee, and then I'm going to cut this bitch's hair, and then I'll slip it in my pocket all day, let her ride there, warmed by my leg, a happy passenger. Then I'm going to smile at Gwen and pat Owen on the back, and massage Tosh's shoulders and save the world. Then I might have some pizza. Then I'm going to tell everyone to pack it in and go home. Then I'm going to strip you and bend you over and pack it in myself.

Love,

Me


End file.
